


who we thought we would be

by viviolet



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Drinking to Cope, Gen, Warning: Trent Ikithon, ep 110 spoilers, general melancholy, i just have so many thoughts about eodwulf i and need to get them out, one sided cadwulf if you’re looking for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26540029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viviolet/pseuds/viviolet
Summary: the unraveling really began when they lost him. it wasn’t a sudden thing, but slow and gradual like peeling away a bandage when you don’t want to look at the wound it conceals.or: eodwulf goes sixteen years without sight of bren, and then he sees him twice in two months. it brings up a lot of memories.
Relationships: Astrid & Eodwulf & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 10
Kudos: 129





	who we thought we would be

**Author's Note:**

> an eodwulf character study inspired by a caduceus quote? it’s more likely than you’d think

Bren looks good.

It’s his first thought when he finally sees him again. Sixteen years both changed him dramatically and not at all. His hair was long again, like both of theirs had been when they met as children. He’s got the force of strong band of mercenaries behind him, and Eodwulf can only think of the time when all he needed was just two others. The irony of finding him in the asylum where they lost him is not lost on Eodwulf.

Eodwulf does his best to show little change in his expression as he takes all these things about Bren in. An effigy of impassivity he must remain. And the past is not such a pleasant place to get lost in for any of the students who were once unlucky enough to be a chosen of Master Trent Ikithon.

The only good memories Eodwulf has of their early days were because of the pair that came with him from Blumenthal. They were so young, so foolish then, convinced of their immortality before they even hit their mid-teens. It had been good while it lasted. But they had been successful in their studies, and that success had a price to pay.

They had to give parts of themselves to one another so they all could survive. Nothing was ever given unwillingly. Eodwulf had found his purpose in their trimurative first, and came to appreciate his body for not just what it could do for him but for the other two as well. Eodwulf got into more fights than any of their fellow students, but it was rarely ever on his own behalf. And once he knew what was expected from him, he was more than happy to deliver. Coming off as a dolt with more muscle than sense kept them safe. The attention his figure earned Eodwulf from his two favorite peers was just an added benefit. When their assistance with experimentation began, he could always endure more, especially if it meant Master Ikithon’s gaze was fixed on him and not the others.

Astrid was always ready to lend her wit. She was always a clever girl and easy to underestimate if you didn’t know her. Her family had been the poorest of the rest of their peers, which wasn’t saying much in their trio, but meant something to the rest of the Soltryce Academy. So she shaped her mind into a weapon, and used it to protect them. She always took lead in organizing research, balancing schedules, remembering the due date of every assignment, dedicating every detail about her boys to memory and occasionally even embarrassing students who tried to make their lives difficult with blackmail she had impossibly collected. When they were alone, Astrid always was the one to speak first and she always knew what to say. No matter her goal, to soothe, to tease, or to embrace, she never missed her mark. Astrid spoke with such conviction that Eodwulf had always found himself wanting to believe what she said, even if at times it didn’t always make sense.

And Bren, he had been their laughter, whispering biting remarks under his breath when their professors deserved it, dragging them out to the dance hall when they found their free time aligned, the one who stole their first bottle of liquor. It had been some cheap, dark brew that tasted more like acid than alcohol when it hit their tongues but that hadn’t stopped the three of them from draining it, passing the bottle underneath the shade of a tree just out of reach of Ambition’s Call. With the branches blocking out the looming shape of the tower they could almost pretend that the horrors they had just emerged from hadn’t occurred, despite their abused flesh and slivers of crystals that resided under the skin of their wrapped arms.

That night in their room, drunkenly and half-slurring his speech, Eodwulf had taught the other two a conjuration trick he had learned back when it had been possible to separate the trio with class schedules. It was an hour of burning incense while dodging their affectionate hands and kisses while he focused, still unable to stop himself from cracking a smile, until his black weasel had landed in the middle of the summoning circle. Astrid had shrieked with laughter when she ran up her arm and burrowed into her neck, and Bren had scratched her scruff and cooed pet names he usually reserved for Eodwulf. They had meant to go out to the Shimmer Ward the next day and buy more incense to copy Eodwulf’s trick, but they all received summons back to check on the progress of the crystals. None of them had the energy for a shopping trip after that. Their work began to pile up, and when they resigned themselves to the fact that they wouldn’t have the time until after their final examinations. But by then, Bren would be gone.

The unraveling really began when they lost him. It wasn’t a sudden thing, but slow and gradual like peeling away a bandage when you don’t want to look at the wound it conceals. Maybe it really started when Eodwulf emerged from his house an orphan, and they went off to help Astrid become one. Maybe it was earlier than that, back when the three of them caught the attention of an Archmage.

Whenever their ruin began, there was no way to function as a trio with one lost to them. Eodwulf had asked so many questions during that time, and no matter the query Astrid would always find an answer for him. She was always so determined, all softness in her gone and giving new meaning to the phrase ‘a sharp mind’. Her treatment of Eodwulf began to shift too, her care shifting towards what his strength could do from her and away from where it came from. But she would always oblige his queries about where to go from here. The faith with which Astrid spoke about the path they had been set on began to chill him.

When they talked about graduation, before it all went wrong, Eodwulf had a strong sense of who he would be. His place was at their sides. They were not to shape the world alone, but with one another. He was a loyal creature by nature, and no one deserved it more than Bren and Astrid. But then their final examination happened. And Eodwulf couldn’t be that man anymore. So he fell back on what he had left, and all that remained was Trent Ikithon. He took up the mantle of Volstrucker not out of pride, or duty, or even the foolish sense of nationalism he still struggled to beat back when it reared up in him. He simply had no one else left to be, and he had been shaped into a hammer by a man who told him that the world was full of nails. It was a lie, but one Eodwulf grew happy to swallow.

Eodwulf learns that Bren now goes by Caleb. He wears that name like armor, but he’s settled into it. The years have changed him, as they should have even with his accident. Eodwulf wonders what Caleb sees when he looks at him. Does he see that boy with hair that curls down to the small of his back? That sixteen year old who stumbled out of his childhood home with the blood of his parents on his hands? Or is he unrecognizable, a monster who recognizes his own, who would not hesitate to kill on command?

Master Ikithon says that Bren is still very sick. Eodwulf has to bite his tongue until it bleeds to avoid correcting him. He finds Astrid later that night, and the two of them empty a bottle he has stored in his wrist pocket. It does little to wash away the taste of iron in his mouth.

Eodwulf had long ago cut out his mind and eaten it at his instructor’s command. Eodwulf knew his thoughts could no longer be his own, so he looks towards Astrid when he can, Master Ikithon when he had no other option. She was kinder to him, always had been. But Astrid was hungry.

She had ascended in their instructor’s ranks, because of course Astrid had. She was driven and he was easily distracted, as Ikithon was more than happy to constantly remind him. Eodwulf had started his visitation of the temple of the Matron of Death in secret but was of course eventually caught. He’s allowed it, on the promise that it does not distract him from his duty to the Empire and to Master Ikithon. Eodwulf would have been turned into a corpse many years ago if he hadn’t learned how to lie to powerful mages ever now and then.

He finds himself distressed about the future. Eodwulf has done horrible things, unspeakable things, and their consequences have trapped him in Rexxentrum, under the thumb of the man who lifted him from his home and promised glory. Instinctually, Eodwulf knows there has to be something to be found here, something he can salvage in his bones and turn himself into a person he might actually like. Still, he cannot see who he might become for all of the ghosts of who he thought he would be by now. All that is certain to him anymore is a vague idea that this will one day all end. Perhaps that’s why Eodwulf keeps finding himself drawn to the Raven Queen. 

The identical letters they receive letting them know that the Mighty Nein are in town and invited to dinner tomorrow don’t give an explicit instruction to report to their former teacher. Astrid and Eodwulf still arrive at the same time in his office, ready to throw themselves into preparations for this fine dinner they mean to host.

Master Ikithon had groomed them, there had been a script, but Caleb’s Nein are more than happy to dance away from it. They’re already rude, dancing around the table and eager to make things difficult. So he’s given them warning of what exactly they’re walking into. Smart. Eodwulf has to deal with their fastest and strongest stealing his first two seats. He goes to pull out the third chair when it’s sliding across the floor, and the strangest looking one of their party extends him the offer to sit.

He takes in the giantkin, seven feet tall with absurdly pink hair who dares to wear kindness on his face in the lion’s den. Eodwulf isn’t the cleverest wizard in the room, but that by no means makes him a fool. He’s rude to the man who dares to show good will, and is surprised when he gives as good as he gets. His curiosity is piqued. Eodwulf wants to speak with him further, but he knows his place here. Head down, do as Master Ikithon says, and hope that the bravado this group wears cracks under a closer eye. He doesn’t think it will.

When the conversation turns on Master Ikithon, Eodwulf can’t deny himself the small rush of gratitude he feels towards them. Notably, the half-orc is so direct with his line of questioning Eodwulf nearly chokes on his mouthful in surprise. He feels more like an armament than he has in a long time when he rolls back his sleeves at Caleb’s inquiry and Ikithon’s command. The cheerful one makes him feel good about it with her title of “Living Magical Weapon”.

As Astrid also pulls back her sleeves, there’s a moment when Eodwulf flashes back to shared quarters, the three of them whispering in the darkness and laughing. Nostalgia grips his gut as he beats the phantoms back in his mind. Astrid has reminded him many times, grief heavy in her voice, how that future is long gone. The fragment of possibility still hurts every time he recalls it.

It’s the giantkin who gets the final laugh of the evening, with a devastating bestowal delivered with a bored smile and half-lidded eyes. Eodwulf feels his pulse pickup, a secondhand high from someone putting the one man Eodwulf fears more than death in his place. He and Astrid share a look as their master vanishes from the room.

They will surely pay for the spectacle tonight, in spoken and unspoken ways. Eodwulf wonders how much of Bren’s life Caleb remembers, if he knows how bad it could get. He fears that it may have been intentional for a moment, but Caleb’s friends don’t seem the type to tolerate unnecessary cruelty. Eodwulf will do his best to remember that when he’s summoned again to Trent Ikithon’s room in Ambition’s Call.

The passing of the bottle begins out of reflex more than thought, but that doesn’t stop the liquor from feeling like a balm when it goes down his throat. As they walk the group down the courtyard, the barbarian’s genuine curiosity is a surprise, but not more than Caleb’s invitation. The fleet-footed halfling’s offer afterwards to steal them away from Rexxentrum only feels like half a joke. If Eodwulf were to close his eyes, he knows he could see himself with this group of seven, daring to smile with long hair again and wearing The Matron’s symbol with pride instead of tucking it beneath his clothes. Just the thought of that image hurts, so he chooses to keep his eyes open and offer his friend only a nod of acknowledgement.

He does get to exchange expectant pleasantries with their vegetarian and has to take his urging to not let Ikithon get to Eodwulf’s head with a blunt smile. He goes to express his hope for their future relationship, but Eodwulf has to catch himself. He’s not that boy who can afford to dream about tomorrow, hasn’t been him in a long time. His future is not his own to command, and he ought to come to terms with that. Not even his Matron can know all the outcomes, when they can change so quickly based on the whim of the Archmage of Civil Influence. That traitorous hopeful voice still cries out, promising a potential to grow into something he can be proud of. This all would be so much easier if the ghosts of their childhood would just let him rest.

Eodwulf has to bite on his tongue long after they’ve turned their backs on the Mighty Nein, and the blood that floods his mouth still brings no relief.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m fascinated with this evil muscle wizard. i really do hope the nein find a way to get him and astrid out of icky thong’s clutches 
> 
> come find me at [somecommonbitch](https://somecommonbitch.tumblr.com) on tumblr


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